


sing me like a choir

by fiddleogold_againstyoursoul



Series: bite (black and) blue [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:05:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8046922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul/pseuds/fiddleogold_againstyoursoul
Summary: Bucky is a singer and fiddler at a laid-back club for musicians and likewise performers, and Steve can't hit a perfect note for the life of him, but he thinks they can make music.One-shot.





	1. Chapter 1

'Doing okay, Rogers?' 

Natasha leans over the side of the counter and flashes her cat's smirk, and Steve shrugs. The lighting does wonders for his already gorgeous friend - her red hair is practically fire, and her skin glows like it's dipped in moonlight. He only hopes he fares half as well.

'As okay as I'll ever be, I guess.'

She laughs, a refreshing sound. 'Look, I know you can't sing or play for shit, but I promise, you'll have fun. If you don't, anyway, drinks are on me, and we'll go someplace you like next weekend.' She breaks off and looks at the stage, where a pretty brunette is taking the mic. The latter looks their way, and winks at Natasha. Steve wonders if he's interrupting something he shouldn't. 

_Not like I'm much good for anything else, really._

'Ladies and gentlemen, we will now be starting our Talent Night. I'm Maria, and I'll be your host for tonight. Taking the stage right now are two oldtime favourites, Mr Sam Wilson and Mr J. Riley. Mr Wilson, briefly re-introduce yourself and tell us what you'll be doing tonight.'

Maria is a woman with dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail and grey-blue eyes that sparkle as she moves. She's pretty in a way that's intimidating - kind of like Nat - in a way that makes you think she could kiss you, kick your ass and hightail out of there in a matter of seconds. She's also kind of ditzy, which is confusing.

'Hey, folks.'

Sam smiles: he's a well built black man in jean cutoffs and a grey shirt that sits snug around his abdomen, and dark, kind of knowing sort of eyes. Steve resolves to go up and say hi, later. He prides himself on being a good judge of character - except for that one time, and they never ever speak of it - and Sam seems like an approachable enough guy. 

'Well, Maria, Riley here will be playing his piano and I'll be singing. We hope to goodness you enjoy this, or Maria won't buy us drinks after,' He turns to the audience, and they jeer good-fashionedly. Riley's lips curl into a soft smile as he takes his place at the mahogany upright, centre-stage. They quickly settle into position, Sam striding to the front as if he owns the place, and Steve can't help but hold his breath when Riley's long fingers first coax the piano keys into audibility. 

_If I knew how to play..._

He dismisses the thought. He's never liked performing, anyway.

They sing Cyndi Lauper's Time After Time -

Sam, voice lilting

_if you're lost you can look and you will find me  
time after time_

Riley closing his eyes as his fingers find their way, meandering down the keys

_if you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting  
time after time_

Gooseflesh rises on Steve's arms, and it stays till even after the applause has died and the duo have bowed themselves off the stage. He makes an absent grab for his cocktail and resolves that this place can't be all that bad. Even if he's lonely and horny and he probably won't find someone to fix that tonight: all he sees is a blur of heads resting on shoulders and smiles exchanged everywhere. This is one of those residences where everyone knows everyone, and everyone's tight with everyone. He feels like a stranger, someone unwanted to disturb this already happy gathering of people of equal musical or otherwise talent.

Brooding, Steve turns to find Natasha, but she's talking to one of the other customers and he looks back to stage where Maria is taking the mic again, his throat tight.

'Thank you, Sam, Riley. One more time for our gorgeous pair, ladies and gentlemen...and we're on to the next performance, none other than an original song by our inhouse bouncer and best voice - do forgive me, Sam - herself, Natasha Romanov!'

Steve straightens, startled, and he catches Natasha's grin as she slinks onto stage: body gliding through the air with enough weight to let you know that she could be all playful and innocent, sure, but if you messed with Natasha Romanov...

He grins, and downs the last of his cocktail. It's equally sour and sweet and he shouldn't love it this much but he does. 

'Buy you a drink?'

'Oh, um,' He goes pink, turning to the man who'd tapped him so very lightly on the shoulder. His ears burn. He hasn't been picked up in a while. 'I, um - I actually came with my friend, and -'

'I won't bite,' The stranger grins, and it's lopsided, and lights up his entire face. He's got dark, coarse hair groomed back to show a sunkissed face, and pink lips that stretch open to show two rows of blindingly brilliant teeth. A dark grey sweater sits snugly around his broad shoulders, hugging them in a way that is almost obscene.

Steve fights to control his nerves, and laughs. It comes out as a watery burble.

'...never said you would.'

'New here? I'm Bucky. Haven't seen you 'round before.' Bucky motions for the bartender to come forward and orders them both a Bellini. He's still smiling. Natasha is talking onstage, and Steve really should turn to look at her, but he can't take his attention off of Bucky. 'You'll never want to leave, promise. Well...we could fix that, of course,' He winks, and Steve flushes. 

'I'm not - I don't - I'm Steve.'

'Steve,' Bucky says, as if testing the name on his tongue, and blinks. 'Hum. That's a nice name.'

'Very prosaic, I know, but -'

'You're Nat's friend. She told me she was bringing a cutie tonight, but I never expected someone like you.' 

_Jesus, this guy is full of fucking one-liners._

Steve is spared from having to reply when the bartender returns with their cocktails. Music strikes up, and Natasha starts to sing. 

Of fucking course she can sing. She's Natasha Romanov! She can do anything. Steve watches her lose herself in the music and starts to smile, a little - he's never seen Nat this vulnerable. The audience love it: they're eating it up, cheering and calling and stomping to the beat. Natasha's got some goddamned beautiful powerhouse vocals, and damn if it doesn't bring down the house. Bucky closes his eyes, and for a moment there Steve worries, because he looks pained. There's a furrow between his brow, and his eyes are scrunched -

And then he opens them and he's grinning, bobbing to the music.

'Did you hear her hit that tenor note? Jesus, that gave me chills.'

\- and Steve realises that that wasn't pain, but concentration.

 _told me not to cry when you were gone  
_ _but the feeling's overwhelming, it's much too strong_

He shrugs, and Bucky's grin widens.

Steve arches into the sound, tries to suck as much of it in as he can: he's like a sponge beating against flowing water, worn out and useless. Bucky's eyes are shut again, a crease in his forehead. He looks like he's wavering between two dimensions, as if Natasha's voice is another plane of reality and all you can do is hang on as it takes you away on gold-gilded wings. He also looks gorgeous, lower lip worried by his set of perfect teeth and eyelashes fluttering as his eyes twitch. Steve realises he's staring and pulls away, flushing. 

His palms are sweaty by the time she's finished, and he catches the tail end of the applause, managing a feeble whoop. His stomach does a loop-de-loop, and that can't mean good things at all.

'I'll be right back,' Bucky says, and then slides by. 

Steve watches him disappear into the crowds, wondering what he did wrong.  _Probably scared him off with my big dumb self,_ he reflects, frowning. Ah, well, at least he got a drink out of it. He fingers the champagne flute glass gently, running his thumb down the side where it slopes. 

'Hey, you.' Natasha jumps him, and he yelps as her arms wrap around his neck. 

 _'Jesus,_ Nat -'

'C'mon, I even gave you warning.' She squeezes and he groan-laughs, pushing her away. 'Looks like you and Barnes were having a nice chat, huh? I told you you'd have a nice time.'

'You were brilliant, Nat, you really were.'

She untangles herself from Steve and grins, sliding into the seat next to him. 

'Maybe next time you can give us a little performance, too, huh? Go up there with your easel and speed-paint. I know someone who can play a mean fiddle.'

Steve sputters. 'Yeah, um, no. I can't - you know, dance or sing for shit, and I don't paint with an audience.'

'You don't give yourself enough credit. Didn't you use to play the piano?'

'What's this I hear about a piano player?' Maria's hand finds the small of Nat's back, and she doesn't seem perturbed at all - she could hear if a needle landed on a stack of hay, outside, in the pouring rain, if it suited her, really. 'Do we have a new talent, Nat?'

'Definitely, absolutely, not. I haven't played since fucking high school.' Steve hides a smile behind his Bellini when Maria pulls a long face and wraps her arms in turn around Nat. 'Don't you, um - don't you have to host the talents, or somethin'?'

She smiles - an easy, slow one that spreads over her entire face.

'Taking a break, pretty boy. 'Sides, Barnes never actually needs an introduction. Crowd loves him, goes wild, even.'

Steve's mouth goes dry.

'...Barnes?'

'The hot stuff chatting you up just now, Cap, yep.' Natasha flicks her red hair and Maria gets a faceful of it. The latter winces and digs her fingers into Nat's shoulders, rewarded with a grimace and a twist of Nat's body. Steve watches this whole exchange, amused. 'Fuck  _off,_ Hill, I'll murder you.'

'He, um -' Steve tries to find the words. Bucky is hiking up the stage casually, long stride met by catcalls and whoops. He turns to Steve and winks, and the latter feels his heart catch. 'He sings, too?'

'Barnes? Course he does.' Maria's eyes follow Bucky, too. 'You should hear him go at his fiddle - ah, there it is. Like fuckin' Apollo and his lyre, you'll see.'

'Emphasis on fuckin' for Rogers, here,' Nat purred, and Steve punched her in the arm. 

Bucky plants his ass down onto a stool in the middle of a stage - the catcalls slowly die away - and lifts an absolute monstrosity of a violin. Not that it's ugly or crude, but simply enormous. Steve gawks at it for a moment before catching Bucky's eye, his eyebrow cocked into the air like an invitation.

He goddamned winks.

Steve flushes so hard he thinks he could pass for a stop sign right then. Some of the crowd turn to look at him, raise an eyebrow. Someone whistles. Most just look underwhelmed. He sinks back into his seat, feeling awfully small.

'Evening,' Bucky says, and Steve closes his eyes against the hubbub that follows. Then there's a gradual hushing noise, neighbours elbowing neighbours, and when the hiss dies away, Steve opens his eyes to see the bow dip.

It dances over the strings, turning and singing, and God if it isn't the most beautiful thing Steve has ever heard. Then Bucky opens his mouth. 

Steve feels like he's floating. His head is in the air, bobbing in the clouds like it is lighter than anything around it, and his pulse is racing. Sweat collects beneath his palms. The hands that are holding his Bellini are cold. He feels like he's chasing an orgasm: out of breath but still ducking round for more. Bucky's lips move and the bow twirls on the strings, and everyone is on their feet, stomping and cheering and it fills Steve's head with happy noise that won't end. He doesn't touch his drink, doesn't move: his skin tingles like he's been doused in oil and set on fire, but he's rooted to the spot, watching Bucky play like there won't be a tomorrow after this.

He's got that face again, the concentrating one: little scowl, tongue resting on lower lip between two sets of teeth as he cocks his head back and fiddles. Occasionally he tosses that magnificent head of hair and the ladies - hell, some men are already screaming - shriek. By God, is he a fucking tease. He handles the fiddle like a lover, both quick and rough and slow and gentle, precise, every note drawn to its fullest. Steve squirms in his seat, trying not to look at how his lips move around the words - it's a foreign song, Eastern European, maybe - and how perspiration is practically dripping off of Bucky's forehead.

He doesn't realise how far gone he is until Bucky finishes with a flourish and the crowd explodes. He's numb, ears ringing, every drop of blood he has rushing to his head - and the other one, too - and it's too much when Bucky turns to look at him, eyes lighting up in a mischievous manner that really can't be good for either of them.

'You think Nat will mind if I borrow you?'

He steps in close to Steve and breathes right next to his ear, and Steve is painfully, painfully entranced with both how Bucky's lips brush his lobes and how he smells like nutmeg and cinnamon and everything that shouldn't blend but does all at once.

Natasha is currently lost in Maria's eyes, and they both are leaning in for something a little bit more than a friendly peck on the lips.

'I think she's pretty preoccupied,' Steve replies, mouth dry, and that's when Bucky grins and plants an exploring hand on his hip. It's hesitant, like he's seeking for approval, but when Steve lifts his gaze to Bucky's, all he sees is pure lust in half lidded eyes. His skin screams where Bucky touches it. Fire and smoke. Rain and ashes. 'I think - I think we can go.'


	2. Chapter 2

The fire burns inside their bones even after the third round. Steve lies content on his back, listening to Bucky's small breathing noises, and wonders why he hadn't thought of getting laid by a fiddler before. The deft fingers gliding over his skin, like he's an instrument made to love...he shivers again, and Bucky smiles, draws him closer.

'Alright, Rogers?'

**Author's Note:**

> Find me @smol_asiansatan on Instagram.


End file.
